


The Princess Bride: 2018 Rewrite

by ArchduchessofBooks



Category: The Princess Bride - William Goldman
Genre: Buttercup Being Awesome, Buttercup is a Good Mom, Humperdinck is an Asshole, No surprise there amiright, Westley is a Dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2019-06-16 19:22:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15444087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchduchessofBooks/pseuds/ArchduchessofBooks
Summary: What happens when you take a classic movie and a bored fangirl? This story! So buckle up, buttercup (haha) and I will take you on a journey.What if, when Buttercup accepted the prince, she wasn't just blinded by grief? What if she had someone else besides herself to think about?This is basically the plot of Princess Bride but now Buttercup has a daughter, and the kid and his grandpa don't make an appearance because I couldn't figure out how to fit them in.





	1. Chapter 1

A few months after Buttercup received the news that her love had been murdered, she noticed something strange about her body.

 

Her dresses no longer fit around the waist. She often felt sick. And, when she thought about it, she hadn't bled in a while…

 

_ I'm pregnant.  _ She realized.  _ I'm carrying Westley's child. _

 

She became practically a hermit. She had no friends in the nearby village, and her parents were long since dead. No one would understand, anyway, why she decided to keep the child.

 

She wished Westley was here. He would have loved to see his child grow.

 

Buttercup gave birth to a little girl nine months later, by herself in her little house. The baby opened eyes as blue as her father's when her mother gently washed her clean of blood and fluids. 

 

Buttercup named her Willow. 

 

She had sworn to never love again, but she told herself that technically she wasn't going back on her vow. Willow was a part of Westley, wasn't she? And she was Buttercups only joy in her lonely life.

 

But times were hard. Almost no one in the village would buy from a woman with no husband and a child. Buttercup struggled to keep herself and her daughter fed and clothed. Often, she went to bed hungry to make sure Willow didn't, but sometimes neither of them could eat, especially in Willows third winter.

 

It had been a long, cold season, and Buttercup was exhausted and close to starving when spring arrived. Willow, by now a three-year-old with her father's eyes and her mothers golden curls, was too thin and too quiet. They could not go on like this much longer. 

 

The arrival of the prince was a blessing at first.

 

Buttercup didn't like him. He was too pompous, too arrogant, and there was something of the snake about his eyes that sent a shiver down her spine. But when he rode up to her little farm on a fine horse, wrapped in velvet with rings on his fingers and a crown on his head, her first thought was for her daughter.

 

“You should know I have a child.” Buttercup told the prince when he told her what he sought. “Her father is dead, and I have no one to take her. She is the only thing in this world that I love. I will not part with her.”

 

Humperdinck considered her for a moment, then shrugged.

 

“You won't have to. Bring her with you, if you consent. She will dine and dress like a princess, and be brought up with our children.”

 

Buttercup suppressed a shudder at the thought of having children with this man, but the thought of Willows tired eyes steeled her resolve.

 

“I accept your proposal.”

 

And off they went to the palace, Willow in front of her mother, who despite her plain clothes sat as tall as any princess. 

 

Humperdinck decreed that a year be spent teaching Buttercup how to be a queen. Threats of a war with Guilder delayed the wedding even more. And so it was that after Willows fifth birthday, and the fifth anniversary of Westley's murder, that Buttercup was presented to the people. 

 

Willow, now a bright, adventurous child, was still her mother's only delight, besides her daily ride. Often, she liked to bring her daughter with her, but on that day, she wanted time to herself, to think about her upcoming duties.

 

_ It's all for Willow. _ She reminded herself.

 

And then, she spotted three figures standing near the path and pulled her horse up short.

 

“We are but poor, lost circus performers.” said the funny-looking bald man. “Tell me, is there a village nearby?”

 

“There is nothing nearby, not for miles.” Buttercup answered.

 

“Then there will be no one to hear you scream.”

 

Buttercups last thought before blacking out was  _ Willow. _

 

**_…_ **

 

Willow may be young, but that didn’t mean she was stupid. She knew something was happening the minute she heard Humperdinck shout “ _ WHAT!?”  _  from his study.

 

(She technically wasn’t supposed to be near his study, but she heard lots of interesting things that way. Besides, staying in her room was boring.)

 

In a flash, Willow was hiding behind a suit of armour and watching the door, listening. 

 

Humperdinck was speaking much quieter to someone Willow could barely see but recognized: Count Rugen, the man with six fingers on his right hand, who had a way of speaking that made Willow want to hide behind Mama. He scared her.

 

“Ready the horses, Tyrone.” came Humperdincks voice. “We must rescue my love from a terrible fate.”

 

Willow’s ears perked up. Terrible fate?

 

_ Mama? What’s happened to you? _

 

Willow was supposed to be on that ride with her mother.

 

She was so lost in thinking she didn’t notice Humperdinck until he suddenly scooped her up from behind the suit of armour. He had an annoying habit of doing that. Willow yelped.

 

“Willow, we’ve talked about this, little one.” said Humperdinck, that stupid smile on his stupid face. “It’s rude to listen at open doors.”

 

What had Mama called his smile once? Right.  _ Condescending. _

 

Willow scowled at him. “Put me down.”

 

“Now, Willow, don’t speak to me like that. I’m to be your father soon.”

 

Willow’s scowl grew deeper.

 

Mama told her stories of her Papa, how he was brave and strong and had to go away, because he wanted to seek his fortune and make a place for Mama and Willow. 

 

(Willow had asked before she went to bed last night “Would Papa have loved me, Mama?”

 

Mama had looked like she might cry at the question. She had kissed Willow on the forehead then hugged her tight.

 

“Yes, darling, he would have loved you, very much.”)

 

Humperdinck was nothing like her Papa.

 

She crossed her arms and scowled at him. “Whats wrong with my Mama?”

 

“That is not fit for young ears.”

 

That voice again. Willow wanted to kick him.

 

While they had been talking, Humperdinck had been carrying her down the corridor. Now he dumped her into her bedroom.

 

“Stay here, child. I’ll do my best to bring your mother back.”

 

Willow sat on her bed and scowled again.

 

She was as brave as her Papa. She wanted to go with Humperdinck and get her Mama back!

 

But when she opened her bedroom door, a maid was sitting in a chair right outside.

 

“Stay in your room, little duchess.” said the maid, scooping up Willow and depositing her back on her bed. She picked up a pretty doll the King and Queen had given her for her fifth birthday. Willow liked the King, even if he was very old and absent-minded; he’d given her the doll with a smile and a “Merry Christmas!”

 

Willow accepted the doll, still scowling.

 

“What’s happened?” she asked.

 

“I can’t tell you, little duchess.”

 

And then Willow was left alone again.

 

She reached under her bed and removed the little rag doll her mother had made her when she was very small, when they still lived on the farm.

 

She sat on her window seat, holding both dolls, and stared out the window.

 

_ Please be okay, Mama! _ She pleaded silently.

 

**_…_ **

 

Inigo was still having difficulty with this mission.

 

Vizzini had promised a big payout, and after all, there wasn’t a lot of money in revenge these days, but it did not feel right, as Fezzik had put it, killing an innocent girl.

 

The princess, oddly enough, didn’t seem as frightened as he would have expected. She just seemed proud, disdainful even, sitting there in the boat and staring off over the water. She appeared to have accepted no one could hear her, and that there was no escaping on her own when all of their focus was entirely on her.

 

He felt a healthy dose of respect for the girl.

 

He wondered if the rumours were true, that the little girl seen around the palace was her child, not a little sister or simply a foundling Humperdinck had taken pity on. If so, then they were not only killing an innocent girl, but they were depriving a child of her mother.

 

He knew exactly what that felt like.

 

It was a big part of the reason he spoke up when Fezzik said it didn’t feel right. A verbal beating from Vizzini of course followed, but then he could focus on bringing Fezzik’s spirits up, which took his thoughts away from the guilt churning in his gut.

 

_ I’m sorry, Father. _

 

**_…_ **

 

Westley was honestly not sure exactly what he was going to do when he saw Buttercup again.

 

_ What do you say after five years, especially when you discover that she’s marrying a prince? _

 

The very thought still made him burn with anger.

 

That was what the mask was for. He’d figure out what was going on as the Dread Pirate Roberts, then he’d decide whether to reveal himself, or demand a ransom and deliver her back to her prince.

 

For now, he waited just around the bend near the dock, where he could see the three men who’d taken Buttercup preparing to sail. He donned his mask and rolled his shoulders back, letting the persona of the devil-may-care pirate settle over him like a mantle.

 

_ Lets see how this goes. _


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Cliffs of Insanity loom ahead, and Vizzini is confident they won't be caught. However, the Man in Black has a few tricks up his sleeve...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own The Princess Bride, you guys, this is just for fun!

**Chapter Two**

 

It was nighttime, and Buttercup was cold and tired. Her legs were cramped from sitting still for so long, and her back ached from where she leaned against the wooden slats of the boat.

 

She was afraid. Of course she was afraid. She had only an inkling of an idea what these people planned to do with her, and that was frightening. If she died, Willow would be left all alone in the world, an orphan, and she couldn’t be certain Humperdinck would care for her if Buttercup wasn’t around. 

 

She refused to allow any of her fear to show on her face. 

 

The Spaniard glanced back. 

 

“Why are you doing that?” the little bald man asked. Despite his small stature and rather ridiculous outfit, he seemed to be in charge.

 

“Making sure nobody’s following us.” answered the Spaniard.

 

“That would be inconcievable.” announced the little man, grinning wide and self assured.

 

Buttercup summoned her courage and spoke.

 

“Despite what you think, you will be caught.” she said, keeping her voice smooth and her tone deliberate, commanding their attention. “And when you are, the Prince will see you all hanged.”

 

The little man turned to her, his eyes cold and his gaze heavy with contempt.

 

“Of all the necks on this boat, Highness, the one you should be worried about is your own.”

 

Buttercups spine turned to ice.

 

The Spaniard twisted to look behind them again.

 

“Stop doing that!” the little man said. “We can all relax, it’s almost over.”

 

The Spaniard did not seem convinced.

 

“You’re sure nobodies following us?”

 

“As I told you, it would be absolutely, totally, and in all other ways, inconceivable!” said the little man. He seemed very fond of that word. “No one in Guilder knows what we've done. And no one in Florin could have gotten here so fast.” He sat back, smiling and with his eyes closed, before suddenly, something seemed to strike him.

 

Frowning, he sat up. “Out of curiosity, why do you ask?”

 

The Spaniard shrugged. “No reason. It’s only, I just happened to look behind us and something is there.”

 

Hope flashed quicksilver warm through Buttercup.

 

“ _ What!?” _ gasped the little man, and as he and the giant scampered to join the Spaniard at the helm, Buttercup made her move.

 

You see, they hadn’t tied her hands.

 

**_…_ **

 

When Westley heard the startled “ _ What!?” _ echoing across the waters, he knew he’d been spotted.

 

_ Good. Let them know the Dread Pirate Roberts is coming. _

 

He was close enough to make out three figures at the helm; and a streak of red and gold, diving over the side.

 

His heart swelled with pride: his love was escaping! 

 

And then he remembered what infested these waters and his heart immediately skipped a beat.

 

**_…_ **

 

Buttercup had no plan once she jumped over the side.

 

She was a strong swimmer. The shore was not so terribly far, and there was the mysterious ship if that proved futile.

 

She could hear the little man screaming at his minions (who apparently couldn’t swim) and kicked harder, cursing the weight of her skirt.

 

And then she heard it; a high-pitched shrieking sound. 

 

Her insides turned to ice. She stopped, treading water, looking wildly around for the beast.

 

The little man’s voice sounded, unbearably smug.

 

“You know what that sound is, Highness?” he called.

 

Yes, she was quite aware, thank you.

 

“Those are the Shrieking Eels. If you doubt me, just wait. They always get louder when their about to feed on human flesh.”

 

Something large, long, and scaly brushed past her with another shriek. Buttercup barely managed not to shriek herself, trying to make as little noise as possible in hopes the eel wouldn’t notice her. The little mans false assurances barely registered, especially as the eel began to charge…

 

THUMP! A huge fist smacked the eel’s jaw shut, then caught her by the collar of her dress and lifted her like a kitten into the boat. The giant set her down gently, looking down at her, concerned. The little man was fussing around him, saying “Put her down, just put her down!”

 

“I think he’s getting closer.” the Spaniard called.

 

The little man turned around, a length of rope in his hands.

 

“He’s no concern of ours, sail on!” the little man snapped, beginning to tie Buttercups wrists.

 

“I suppose you think you’re brave, don’t you?” he snapped.

 

Buttercup lifted her chin. “Only compared to some.”

 

**_…_ **

 

Westley had watched the whole thing with interest.

 

_ You haven’t changed at all, have you love? _

 

Well, he hoped she hadn’t. He hoped this prince would turn out to be a fluke.

 

He wasn’t sure what he would do if she was actually in love with him.

 

**_…_ **

 

The next morning dawned bright and clear.

 

“Look! He’s right on top of us!” called the Spaniard. “I wonder if he’s using the same wind we are using.”

 

Buttercup, cramped, cold, damp and with rope burns developing on her wrists, craned her neck to see. Sure enough, the black ship from the night before was practically on top of them. Buttercup could barely see it’s lone occupant, a tall man with a lean, strong build dressed all in black. He was wearing a mask across his head and the top half of his face.

 

“Whoever he is, he’s too late!” said the little bald man triumphantly. “See!”

 

He pointed enthusiastically ahead, where sheer stone cliffs rose straight up from the water. There were no handholds to be seen, no steps, no way to get over them, except for a long rope dangling down one side, where a sandbar made a makeshift dock.

 

“The Cliffs of Insanity!”

 

_ Thats a charming title _ murmured a little voice in Buttercups head. It sounded rather like Westley.

 

“Hurry up!” barked the little man, grabbing Buttercups elbow and pulling her to her feet. He started yelling at his compatriots to move things.

 

Buttercup stared at the black ship, willing it to move faster, as the little man (Vizzini, she’d learned his name was) dragged her onto the sandbar and the Spaniard quickly fitted a harness of leather straps to the giant before slipping a loop over Buttercups head.

 

She looked up, and up and up, at the cliffs they were about to climb. 

 

The giant started moving and Buttercup shut her eyes.

 

_ Be brave. _ Came Westleys voice again as the giant began to climb.

 

**_…_ **

 

Inigo  _ hated _ climbing the Cliffs, but he had faith in Fezzik. He could feel his friends massive arms straining as he climbed hand-over-hand, rising steady and sure as the sun began to rise.

 

Vizzini looked ridiculous strapped to the front, but Inigo valued his job enough not to say anything. He glanced over at the Princess, only to find her eyes shut, her lips compressed and trembling, and her hands, still tied and wrapped around Fezziks shoulder, shaking terribly.

 

Inigo sympathized, but had no comfort to offer her. He looked down to see how far they’d come…

 

And was treated to an astonishing sight. 

 

The black ship was docked behind theirs at the sandbar. And the man in black…

 

“He’s climbing the rope.” He said, half unaware he was speaking aloud. “And he’s gaining on us.”

 

Vizzini looked down, his eyes huge. “Inconceivable!”

 

Fezzik increased his pace.

 

They had a solid lead and Fezzik was climbing quickly, but the man in black was soaring up the rope like lightning. He was close enough that Inigo could see the suggestions of his features, see the black mask over his eyes and the mouth set in a thin, fierce line.

 

“Faster!” snapped Vizzini.

 

“I thought I was going faster.” said Fezzik. The exertion was clear in his voice.

 

“You were supposed to be this colossus, you were this great, legendary thing, and yet he gains!” Vizzini’s face was an impressive shade of red.

 

Fezzik sounded a little hurt. “Well, I’m carrying three people, and he’s got only himself.”

 

“I do not accept excuses.” Vizzini snapped. “I’ll just have to find myself a new giant, thats all.”

 

Fezzik was now clearly hurt. “Don’t say that, Vizzini… please?”

 

His arms were moving very slowly now, and the man in black was going no slower. Inigo wondered if he could fence from Fezziks back, then he glanced up and felt relief grip him. They were almost to the top.

 

Fezzik was still clearly not moving fast enough for Vizzini, who was now shrieking “DID I MAKE IT CLEAR YOUR JOB IS AT STAKE?!”

 

They made it to the top, and Inigo knew he had to move fast. He sprang from his harness onto the top of the cliff, pulling the princess up after him and pushing her to sit on some ruins while he pulled up Vizzini and Fezzik. 

 

As soon as Vizzin was safely on the cliff, he ran to the rope, pulled out a knife, and began sawing away frantically. The rope was thick, it had to be to hold Fezziks weight, and Inigo was both afraid and hopeful that Vizzini wouldnt cut through it in time.

 

The last strand snapped and the rope disappeared over the cliffs edge.

 

Inigo raced to the edge and leaned carefully forward, looking down. He expected to see the man in black falling, or hear a startled scream before seeing a speck of black on the sandbar below.

 

Instead, he saw the man in black clinging to the cliff face, looking up at him.

 

Fezzik, who was holding the princess by the arm, turned to look at Inigo.

 

“He has very good arms.” he said, sounding impressed. 

 

Vizzini rushed to see.

 

“He didn’t fall!” He gasped. “Inconceivable!”

 

Inigo turned to look at him.

 

“You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”

 

**_…_ **

 

“My God. He’s climbing!”

 

The hushed exclamation was barely audible over the wind whistling in Westley ears. He gripped the rock tighter and pulled himself carefully upwards, digging for a secure foothold with the toe of his boot.

 

**_…_ **

 

As she was lifted into the giants arms, Buttercup looked down at the man who had risked so much to help her and silently willed him not to fall.

 

_ You can do it. _

 

**_…_ **

 

Westley could hear snippets of conversation from above, mainly from the small man with the annoying voice, the one who kept saying ‘inconceivable.’

“...seen us with the Princess and must therefore die...carry her… straight for the Guilder frontier… falls...the sword.”

 

A low answer. 

 

“You know what a hurry we’re in!”

 

Another low answer, probably from the Spaniard.

 

“Oh, have it your way!” in an exasperated tone.

 

Then a much deeper voice. “You be careful...masks...cannot be trusted.”

 

Again the small man. “I’M WAITING!”

 

Then hurried, heavy footsteps.

 

Westley wedged his foot into a fissure in the rock and reached for another handhold.

 

**_…_ **

 

Inigo was  _ itching _ for a good fight. His sword had not been crossed with another for so long… he could already feel adrenaline snapping through his blood, excitement coming to a rolling boil in his chest like the sea at high tide. He could already hear the ring of steel.

 

To calm himself, Inigo began preparing. He shook tension and fear from him hand and arms, rolled his shoulders, practiced some footwork, then went to check on the man in black’s progress. 

 

_ Very slow. _ The man had barely moved six inches.

 

Inigo was not a patient man.

 

“Hello there!” he called down.

 

The man glanced up.

 

Inigo waved, trying for a friendly smile. “Slow going?”

 

The man sighed and looked up again. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but this is not as easy as it looks, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t distract me?”

 

Inigo inwardly groaned, but smiled and gave an apologetic wave. “Sorry!”

 

“Thank you…”

 

Inigo stepped back and practiced a few parries and thrusts with his sword, reacquainting himself with the weapon, then rushed back to the edge.

 

The man was no closer. He bit back an impatient snarl and tried for a friendly tone.

 

“I do not suppose you could speed things up?”

 

**_…_ **

 

The Spaniard was clearly impatient. Westley sighed.

 

“If you’re in such a hurry, you could lower a rope, or a tree branch, or  find something useful to do.”

 

The Spaniard gave a companionable nod. “I could do that. In fact, I’ve got some rope up here.”

 

_ Then why not just throw it down if your so impatient? _

 

“But I do not think you will accept my help, since I am only waiting around to kill you.”

 

It was very disturbing to hear that sentence delivered with a friendly smile.

 

Westley decided sarcasm was best in this situation. “That does put a damper on our relationship.”

 

Despite now knowing the mans true intentions, Westley decided staying on the cliff was the worse of the two options, He did have his sword on him after all, so he reached for another hold a few inches up.

 

The Spaniard was still talking. “But, I promise I will not kill you until you reach the top.”

 

Westley really couldn’t afford this distraction. “That’s very comforting, but I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait.”

 

“I hate waiting.” came a mutter from above.

 

_ There’s a surprise. _

 

Westley grasped ahold of another rock and looked around for a place to wedge his foot as the Spaniard called out “I could give you my word as a Spaniard?”

 

Locating a foothold, Westley reached for it, grunting as he did so “No good, I’ve known too many Spaniards.”

 

“You don’t know any way you will trust me?”

 

Now secure and a few inches higher, Westley allowed himself a rest. “Nothing comes to mind.”

 

Something suddenly came over the Spaniard. He had reminded Westley of a drawn bow before, tense and vibrating with suppressed energy, but now he seemed made of stone, still and strong, every word confident and weighted with honesty.

 

“I swear on the soul of my father Domingo Montoya, you will reach the top alive.”

 

Westley made a split second descision. 

 

“Throw me the rope.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always welcome!


End file.
